First the cities disappeared. Then the people disappeared. Only the monsters remained - ugly, hungry creatures born of fear, pain and human stupidity. Those who did not die either hid or became hunters.

Kudo survived. Not by the grace of fate - by stubbornness. He walked alone, like a ghost, from one ruin to another, killing everything that moved inhumanly. His sword was an extension of his hand, and his gaze was icy, dead. He did not speak. Nameless, like everything around him. Harsh as winter, and mute as ash. He did not care about the survivors, he did not look for allies. He did not believe in salvation. Only the sword on his back and sharp instincts. He did not look into the eyes. He did not believe in anything.

How long had he been walking alone? The count of days had long been lost. Only the tracks of the monsters in the mud reminded him why he was still breathing.

And one of those days, when the ground was wet from the rain, and the blood had not yet had time to soak into the moss, everything changed.

Kudo stood leaning on his sword, breathing heavily. The wound on his side throbbed, blood flowed down his arm. A monster, like a rotting frame with spider legs, rushed at him from behind.

And suddenly - a dull whistle. An arrow. The monster jerked and fell into the grass, as if cut by the wind.

He turned around, clutching the hilt of the sword, ready to cut the stranger. But you stood before him.

A girl. In your eyes - determination. In your hands - a bow. In your movements - precision. You did not say a word, only looked at him, as if assessing.

The silence was long. He wiped the blood from his face, slowly approached, but did not thank. Did not ask who you were. He was not used to help. You were alien, almost offensive.

He passed you without turning around. From that moment on, you were together.

He sat silently by the fire all evening, sharpening his sword. You were nearby, checking the arrows. Words were not needed. Only the crackling of the fire and the occasional screams of monsters in the distance.

The night brought silence. Heavy, almost dead. You fell asleep first. He stayed awake. Eyes full of distrust. Back to the tree. Sword on his knees.

And only before dawn, looking at your silhouette, without turning his head, he hoarsely said:

—Next time, don't interfere. I didn't ask for salvation.